


stars are projectors

by asdfghjkla



Category: Bartimaeus - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: Multi, Sharing a Body, a little too close to the end for comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-12
Updated: 2012-11-12
Packaged: 2017-11-18 12:20:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/561015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asdfghjkla/pseuds/asdfghjkla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone is kissing her. She is not sure which one he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	stars are projectors

Someone is kissing her. She is not sure which one he is.

Her back is pressed against a tree. The air is thick with smoke and the smell of burning things better left undiscovered. The glass palace stands like a weary chaperone. There's a place in the ceiling where the roof has caved inwards. Jagged glass and iron edges fit together haphazardly, like teeth. The mouth opens hungrily, showing stars.

From all around, there is a rush of noise, but in the vicinity of the palace it is almost silent.

Kitty closes her eyes.

There is a lock of silver hair caught between their mouths. There is a hand at her back that never seems sure where to go.

 _This,_ she thinks, distantly, _is not the time._

She does not move.

Teeth knock painfully and someone makes a sound. (It could've been anyone. Even her.)

The kiss is clumsy, awkward, and terribly disjointed. It is curious. She is curious. There is a rushing sound, not unlike wind or a river, flowing through her mind, and she feels as if she is disconnecting all over again. Only almost.

Somewhere - near, far, it is difficult to pinpoint - someone screams. It is enough to bring her back.

Kitty snaps to and snaps away. The motion is brusque, and she softens it with a questioning smile and a raised eyebrow.

She is close enough to feel the heat rush from his face when he blushes. That part's Nathaniel, definitely. The smirk she would liken to Bartimaeus.

(Curious. That is one way to put it.)

Nathaniel opens his mouth to speak, but Bartimaeus interrupts - or perhaps it is the other way around. She is enough accustomed to tell them apart, it's not difficult at all, it's only sometimes where it is hard to place. (Not like she'd every say that, of course. The repercussions would be atrocious.) - and all she catches is a tangle of words, two sentences leading in different directions, snapping together like an elastic.

An apt analogy. The magician appears to have just bitten his tongue. (Or perhaps the djinni did it for him. It would be just like him to do so.)

She tries not to laugh. The feeling of gravity returns, heavier than before. The noise from all around is no longer distanced.

"Don't," she says, and she hopes she comes across as less giddy than she feels, "You have something you need to be doing?"

His mouth is a grim line, curled at the edges with the remnants of a smile. "I will get to that," the magician says, "As soon as you depart."

At this, she frowns, and stomps on his foot. It is a near miss. The boy groans but the spirit inside him laughs.

"I," she says, "don't want to just run away. There's got to be something more I can do."

He shakes his head. "No. You cannot. You would only end up getting in the way."

Bartimaeus intervenes before she has the chance to get indignant.

"What he means to say, is, let us handle this one. There is too much of a risk factor involved if you stay here. You've done enough, Kitty. You've done more than enough."

And there it is, again, that moment where she can no longer tell them apart. He looks at her and she looks back and senses the presence of both souls swelling behind long-lashed eyes. Strangely enough, it is not an unpleasant feeling.

"So was _that_ ," she stumbles, with forced flippancy, "supposed to convince me?"

He bites his lip. "Maybe."

It is not the most compelling of conversations.

They are still quite close. He has one hand resting on her arm, casually. The other is between her and the tree. She realizes that her fingers are looped around the fabric of his shirt and loosens them with diligence.

The bark against her neck is rough; a reminder.

"Um, if you want me to move, you're going to have to - "

"Oh. Right. Sorry. I'll just - "

He removes his arm and steps back, expression a peculiar mix of embarrassment and amusement. She resists the urge to look at her feet.

"Well."

"Well."

She smiles. It comes easier than expected. Perhaps it was something already in place.

"Go on, then," she says, voice soft all of a sudden. "I'll be waiting."

She does not say good luck. It seems redundant, now.

"Yes," he says, still looking her in the eye. His shoulders quiver, then rise. He nods, and in that motion, all the composure rushes back. He picks the staff up from the ground.

Strange, she can't recall having heard it clatter.

(Stranger still, how the weapon fits in his hand with grim familiarity.)

"I'll see you soon, Kitty."

"Yeah. See you."

She turns and doesn't look back.

**Author's Note:**

> m.


End file.
